


Desiccate

by CeNedraRiva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Season/Series 13 Spoilers, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/CeNedraRiva
Summary: Dean knew what loss felt like. A hollow inside your chest, aching low and constant, demanding your attention. An itch in your eyes that stabbed you whenever you dropped your guard. A lump in your throat, twisting all your words until they felt like acid on your tongue.  It warped your thoughts until you were allergic to all the good things in life, and you felt queasy just from seeing a sunset or listening to a mixtape.





	Desiccate

Dean was no stranger to loss. Hell, there was barely a member of his extended family who hadn’t died bloody at some point. Even he and Sam had died a time or two. So far, they’d been the only ones to shake it off. 

If you didn’t count Cas. 

Dean’s legs were starting to go numb, but he was barely aware of it. He ignored the chills against his skin and the ringing in his ears. 

The coarse sand was damp beneath his fingertips. The texture was smoother wherever the dark ash was imprinted on the ground. Glassy. Melted by the heat of burning grace. 

Dean knew what loss felt like. A hollow inside your chest, aching low and constant, demanding your attention. An itch in your eyes that stabbed you whenever you dropped your guard. A lump in your throat, twisting all your words until they felt like acid on your tongue.  It warped your thoughts until you were allergic to all the good things in life, and you felt queasy just from seeing a sunset or listening to a mixtape. 

But through it all, through all the… the grief he’d felt, he didn’t lose himself. The mission. Saving people. Hunting things. People lived because of Dean, because he didn’t run from the things that went bump in the dark. 

Purpose. That’s what you needed to fight off loss. 

Dean’s eyes were itching. His throat was full. His cheeks were dry. 

Dean’s fingers traced over a larger lump of glass. He blinked when he sliced himself on a sharp edge, a small bead of red glistening on the black surface. Grace. Grace ash and sand, melted into one. Cas’s grace. 

What was his purpose now? Why was Cas just lying there? Didn’t he know Dean needed his guidance? Needed him, period?

Dean didn’t know what to do. 

It was later. Daylight. Sunshine bright and warm on the gravel. Vague memories of the drive. Shooting at yellow eyes. Making some excuse to Sam.

Eyes closed wasn’t enough to block out the gentle, abhorrent warmth. Dean grit his teeth. Called out. He prayed to Chuck, begged him to take it all back. Reverse it all. Bring Cas back. Bring them all back. Chuck had never needed a reason before, never even hesitated, but there was no familiar rustle of feathers. No gentle touch to his shoulder. Why not this time? What made this dea—this time different?

His eyes were burning. His knuckles throbbing and sticky where the skin had split.

It was dark again. Time sliding past every time he fucking blinked. Sam was stood beside him. Lucifer’s kid was asking Sam what to do at a funeral. Dean didn’t care. The kid was doomed. No point trying to explain humanity to him. It never did angel types any good, anyway.

The heat was drying his skin, making it crawl and crack and itch, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t turn from the inferno engulfing his... friend. His—what was Cas anyway? Not a brother, it wasn’t the same, never had been the same as Sam or even Benny. Cas was close, filling up the cracks and spaces scattered across Dean’s soul and balancing him out. Cas was – he was everything. 

Burning on a pyre. 

What was Dean meant to do? He was just a guy, just one battered, broken human. And Cas was gone. 

The black glass formed a misshapen lump in his pocket, digging into his thigh. His eyes weren’t damp.

Sam was trying to give him space, as much as you could when you’re sharing motel rooms. The nephilim was always smiling. Curious. Poking around their room, all naive and happy until he wasn’t. Until his eyes burned yellow, and the laws of physics fluttered. 

Jack. The one Cas wanted to save so bad, he’d betray his real family. Betray Dean. 

The kid was like a puppy. Maybe that’s why Sam liked him so much. Dean still wasn’t too fond of dogs. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t surprised when it turned out Jack had teeth. He hadn't learnt that people could break, that he could snap at them and crush them with a thought. Instead the kid was flailing around and lashing out like a baby reaching for a mobile. He might look like a teen, might talk like he'd swallowed a philosophy textbook, but he was days old. 

Where did the kid even learn the head tilt thing?

Wandering the halls of the bunker, it took Dean a second to recognize what he was seeing.

The kid. A knife. Blood staining a white shirt.

Dean was moving before he could think it through, taking the knife from unresisting fingers. Jack stared at him with wide, worried eyes, his skin unmarred beneath the tattered shirt. Dean nearly winced as he picked out the stabbing locations — heart, lungs, liver, small intestines. Real pain centres, anywhere you could do a lot of damage in one hit.

Hard to think this was the same kid who’d flinched at the bite of a tattooist’s needle. 

Jack seemed to relax after Dean’s promise, even if they both knew he’d have no real clue how to enact it when the time came. 

Neither of them mentioned it to Sam.

Dean wasn’t really sure how many days it had been. Everytime he checked a clock it seemed he’d skipped another few hours. He only knew he was hungry when Sam thrust some cheap, greasy burger into his hands. Music was too loud, too structured. It grated against him.

Maybe Dean was empty. Maybe this time it had been too much. Maybe he really was hollow inside, his insides burnt out on the pyre, and that was why he couldn’t even cry when—

Didn’t matter. Being empty didn’t matter. Monsters still needed killing. People still screaming, dying. He couldn’t just sit here on his ass like any of them were gonna give him a moment to breathe. Purpose. This was what he needed. Something he could actually do to help. 

Missouri could see right through him. Dean just smiled. Kept smiling, even when he heard she’d been murdered. It couldn’t touch him. He was floating above the depths, soap-scum across the surface of the water, staring up at the sky.

It couldn’t touch him. 

Figured he’d fail again. Let another person die. It was just fucking typical. 

Jody tried, of course. Dean appreciated it. Really, he did. It just didn’t mean anything. Didn’t help. 

Except maybe she’d broken the surface, because he could feel it churning now, the currents snagging at his legs and twisting up and out and through his mouth until he was screaming at Sam. Couldn’t Sam see it? Couldn’t Sam see the cracks in his skin? How could he expect Dean to just pick himself up and be a person again?

Dean couldn’t remember what he said. What confessions might have tumbled out. All he knew was that it was enough for Sam to leave him alone. 

Dean’s fingers found the black glass. The last remnants of grace, speckled across sand. The sharper edges were worn off now. 

“I – I’m sorry.” 

Dean blinked, refocused. Jack. The kid was crying. Sniffling. Folding himself as small as you could get while standing. Dean frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were right. When you were talking with Sam. Castiel would still be alive if I hadn’t interfered.”

“Yes. He would be.” It was like speaking around gravel. Jack nodded jerkily, eyes glistening. It stirred the wisp of something feral in Dean’s gut, hissing and snarling. What right did Jack have to cry over this? If Dean couldn’t manage it, then what gave Jack the right?

“I tried. I tried to bring him back, really, but – it hasn’t worked, and—“ Jack stifled a sob, and Dean could only stare, bemused, as Lucifer’s kid tried not to break down for failing to resurrect an angel. 

“’course it didn’t. You ain’t God,” Dean muttered. Jack shook his head. 

“No, I – it should be possible. I can feel it. But I failed,” he trailed off, avoiding Dean’s eyes. 

Sam could think whatever he liked, Dean did  _ not _ find it easy to hate a crying kid. 

“Look. Just forget about Cas, you’ve done enough,” Dean said. “Listen to Sam, and just stop – stop trying to fix things. Get yourself under control before you get someone else killed.” Dean left before Jack could respond.  

Dean barely got glimpses of the boy over the next few days. He always seemed to be darting from the room, or else staring attentively at Sam. He acted less curious. Didn’t smile. Didn’t explore as much. 

Dean tried to ignore the echo of Cas glaring at him from the back of his mind. This wasn’t what Cas would have wanted for the kid. 

It wasn’t Jack’s fault Cas got stabbed. Except for the part where it was. Dean didn’t know. 

Dean was tweaking Baby’s engines. Trying to find whatever had made that odd rattle during the last hour of the drive home. Jack, for once, was sat nearby, watching. Dean ignored him.

“Sam told me you once lived as nomads together, travelling in that car,” Jack said. Dean glanced to him. The kid looked innocent. Human. 

Dean went back to work. 

“How does the car work?”

“Shouldn’t you be bothering Sam?”

Jack shrugged in response, before doing that fucking head tilt. Dean ignored him. Jack didn’t seem to get the message, or maybe he was learning to ignore whatever social signals were getting in his way. The kid moved closer.

“What’s that?”

Dean sighed. Considered leaving the room. 

“Cylinders,” he replied.

“What do they do?”

Dean stared at him. Jack stared back. 

“You want to learn how a car works.”

Jack nodded. Hopeful. Excited. 

Where the hell was Sam?

Dean didn’t send the kid away. Jack memorised all the names, recited the components and their functions. He smiled at the oil smeared on his hands. Later, Dean settled in the kitchen, hidden from both doorways by the counter. 

The bunker was never silent, but it was noisiest in the kitchen. The hum of the fridges. The rattles of the pipes. It didn’t really help, but it got close to matching the ringing in his head. It was something like quiet.

On the day things changed, everything started the same. Dean wandering the halls too early. Sam and Jack in the library, talking quietly. Scrolling the web for hunts. Passing on anything less deadly than a wendigo.

There was a rustling of wings. A thump. A low groan. Sam was by his side, both of them poised to attack whatever had broken through their wards. Jack was still seated, confused. 

The intruder was dressed in a tan coat.

“Father!” Somehow, Jack was the first  by Cas’s side. Cas shifted to sit up, smiling at the kid, speaking softly to him. They were hugging, and Sam was still wary, but he was standing besides them now, and Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. 

Cas was standing, with their help. Drawing Sam into a hug, too. Sam was grinning now, glancing back to Dean with a question in his eyes. Jack released Cas’s arm, turning with a gummy smile, calling out “Dean, it worked!”

Dean still couldn’t move. 

“Dean?” Cas’s voice, all cautious hope. As if he was worried he’d done something wrong by coming back. How a goddamn angel had gotten so insecure, Dean had no fucking clue. Probably his own fault though, he hadn’t exactly spent his time reassuring the guy.

His vision was blurring, distorting. 

Cas was right there, but he couldn’t be real. 

He was within touching distance. Dean reached out, hand hesitating a bare inch above Cas’s. Cas tilted his head, and closed the distance, tangling their fingers. His skin was warm, light callouses catching against Dean’s. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t look away from the contact in case this all just melted away. If you looked too soon, it wouldn’t be real. Wasn’t that what happened to Orpheus?

But he couldn’t look away for long. Not with Cas  _ here. _ Breathing, heart beating, just standing there watching Dean get teary-eyed over a little hand-holding. 

Finally Dean met Cas’s eyes. 

It was…it was Cas.  _ His _ Cas. The same angel, a little world-wearied, but there was the same kindness to his eyes. The same hint of a smile on his mouth. That same ineffable energy radiating out from his vessel. 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. In the next moment, he threw himself forwards, his arms coming up to encircle Cas’s shoulders and draw him in tight. He hid his face against the collar of Cas’s coat, and his breath was hitching every time now, his eyes just leaking, fucking hell—

At the first sob, Cas began to rub circles into his back. They were swaying gently. Cas mumbled soothing phrases, the same meaningless crap they did whenever a witness began crying, and Dean could barely focus on any of it, because Cas was here,  _ Cas was alive _ —

Eventually, he calmed. Cas fell silent, though he didn’t draw back from their hugging. Dean appreciated that. He couldn’t quite bring himself to move away either, as if Cas might disappear the moment Dean let go. 

He did notice Jack and Sam seemed to have snuck away, no doubt to give them privacy or something.  Jack. Dean should probably apologise to him at some point. Jury was still out on whether he’d go darkside, but fucking hell, he’d actually managed to bring Cas back—

“Sorry. You’re the one who – and I’m making you comfort me, or something,” Dean laughed, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. He couldn’t bring himself to release Cas’s hand. 

Cas’s hand on his shoulder drew his attention. Dean blinked, startled by the gentle look on Cas’s face. 

“It’s okay to need comfort, Dean,” Cas said. “I’m not the one who’s had to live through a loss.”

Dean swallowed, suddenly dizzy. Cas shouldn’t just say things like that. Kind things, as if Dean’s happiness was what he wanted, as if it mattered. It made Dean want to lean forwards, press their lips together, pour out everything, all his gratitude and longing and affection until Cas saw it all. Until he saw Dean bare.

Luckily, Dean was able to suppress the impulse. Unluckily, his traitor mouth let the words “I love you,” tumble free instead.

Cas didn’t react immediately, seemingly looking for the trick, the qualifier, whatever phrase Dean was gonna tack on the end to make his confession less raw. Dean held back, let the words sit. He didn’t… if they were out there already, he wasn’t gonna try and take them back. He’d already lost Cas, more than once, without letting him know. He wasn’t gonna make the same mistake again. 

Cas was looking slightly confused now, his eyes guarded. 

“I love you too, Dean.”

Dean shook his head slightly, leaning in a little. He wasn’t gonna let Cas misunderstand.

“Cas, I love you. I love you,” Dean said.

Cas nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “Like a brother…”

“Like ‘ _ in love with’ _ . Cas, I love you like  _ ‘want to kiss you’ _ .”

“Dean.” Cas’s hand was against Dean’s cheek now, his eyes filled with this sort of frantic hope. “Truly?”

“Yeah. Figured it’s something you should know.”

Cas grinned. It felt like spring rain. 

Dean wasn’t sure who leaned in first. Both of them? His eyes fell closed at the first brush of their lips, a whisper of contact that sent a shiver down his spine. Cas tightened his hold on Dean’s fingers, and kissed him. 

Dean swayed, dizzy from some spiralling medley of relief, exhaustion and pleasure. Cas noticed, of course.

“Dean?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little tired,” Dean murmured, already leaning back in for another kiss. Cas avoided him, moving back far enough to look Dean over. Dean sighed.

“You appear fatigued. Have you been sleeping?”

“I...not really.”

Cas grimaced, but didn’t comment, which Dean could kiss him for. Huh. He could actually kiss Cas now. Cas’s lips were soft, curving up into a smile beneath Dean’s and Cas’s hand had somehow become tangled in the short hair at the back of Dean’s head. 

Cas turned away after a few seconds, still smiling, still holding Dean close. Dean hummed with pleasure, and buried his face in Cas’s shoulder. His body was solid, warm within Dean’s arms. 

“I should take you to bed,” Cas breathed. Dean hummed again, but didn’t answer. “Come on.”

Cas disentangled them enough to walk, before guiding Dean down the corridors. Dean followed. Would follow him anywhere. And then they were in his room, and Cas was peeling away Dean’s jacket and working at the laces of his boots. Dean blinked, tried to help, but he was pretty sure he only got in the way. 

Dean was seated on the bed, stripped down to his boxers, and Cas was here, Cas was standing in his room, and fuck, he still wasn’t certain this was anything more than an elaborate dream. 

“I am here,” Cas spoke, brushing through Dean’s hair. Dean swallowed, and his eyes were tearing up again. He wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Always,” Dean whispered against his navel. He felt Cas nod, and then Cas was guiding him to lie back, shedding his trenchcoat and suit jacket and shirt. Dean glanced over his bare chest, felt a flicker of arousal, but he ignored it. Honestly, he was feeling tired enough he’d probably pass out if they tried anything. 

Cas slid into the bed, turning the lights off with a gesture, his grace leaving static in the air. Dean turned to him, meeting Cas in the middle of the bed. Warm. Solid. Real. 

Dean slept.

* * *

 

Morning was slow. Lazy. Cas greeted him with kisses trailing down his neck. Now, he was sprawled out over his chest, head tucked against Dean’s shoulder, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. 

“I can’t lose you like that again,” Dean said, facing the ceiling. Easier to pretend he was talking alone than admitting this all to Cas. “I’m just a guy, I’m not strong enough.”

“Of course you’re strong enough, Dean. You’re the strongest soul I know.”

“Brittle, then.”

“Dean, you and your brother have saved the world, multiple times. You help people. If I die to help you survive another day, that’s no great cost.”

“It is to me. Cas, you’re…you’re everything.”

“Hardly.”

Dean snorted. “Without you, I was barely functional. I was a wreck, Cas. Still am. You make me a better person, just by existing. Cas, I need you.”

Cas didn’t respond immediately. He shifted his weight onto one elbow, lifting up until he was balanced leaning above Dean. His eyes held that same quiet confusion.

“You told me that years ago. Back when Naomi—“ he swallowed “—when she was controlling me.”

“It was true then, too.”

“Needing me?”

“Loving you.”

Cas smiled, a light blush colouring his cheeks. 

Eventually, hunger drove them to leave the confines of Dean’s room. Walking to the kitchen took far longer than normal, since every few feet Dean just needed to touch Cas. To kiss him. To hold him, and know he was here. This wasn’t a trick. Cas was back. He was real, and flattered by Dean’s attentions. 

Dean wanted to see that smile every single day. 

Jack and Sam were both in the kitchen, a new batch of coffee brewing in the machine. Sam was by the stove, playing with the waffle iron Dean had picked up years ago. He appeared to have the hang of it now, but Dean noticed three or four burnt, misshapen waffles sitting just inside the bin.

“Father. Dean,” Jack greeted with barely restrained joy. “Look! Sam is serving waffles.”

Cas seemed to soften, moving to sit beside Jack as the boy explained all his favourite toppings. Dean smiled, fetching them both mugs of coffee before settling beside Cas. Cas smiled in thanks, sipping at the scalding fluid without flinching. 

Jack looked to Dean as he finished talking about the waffles, glancing between him and Cas. “Does this mean I should call you Father as well, Dean?”

Dean spluttered, spilling a little of his coffee. “What?”

Jack frowned, seemingly confused. “Sam told me that this was the traditional greeting used by children to signify acceptance when one of their parents chose a new long-term romantic partner.” He paused, glancing to Sam then back to Dean. “Did I use it incorrectly?”

Face flushed, Dean glared at Sam, who was attempting to look completely innocent.

“I believe you used it correctly,” Cas answered. Dean spun around to face him, ignoring Sam’s snickering. “From what I know of popular modern media, the phrase and those similar to it are fairly common.” 

Jack seemed to preen under Cas’s praise. Dean hid his face in his hands. 

He felt like laughing. This whole thing was so ridiculous, and he just knew Sam was gonna tease him for weeks, and he didn’t care. He felt light.

Dean looked up, turning to Cas once again, who appeared thoroughly absorbed by whatever Jack was telling him now, something about nougat and how all the other candies he’d tried so far had yet to measure up to it. 

Maybe in a few hours Dean would have to come back to earth, face reality and deal with all that other bad crap that kept piling up around their feet. For now, he was content to bask in this weird domestic glow they’d set up together. 

Dean slipped his hand into Cas’s, who smiled and leaned in to kiss him right there in front of everybody, before going back to his conversation like nothing had happened. Sam was smirking, and Dean could feel his cheeks flushing, but he grinned anyway. 

Long-term romantic partner. He was looking forwards to it. 


End file.
